


Collide

by mystivy



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystivy/pseuds/mystivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Monte Carlo, 2014.  Roger has something to tell Rafa, and it has something to do with that time in New York with Mirka...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collide

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank yous to Lucy and Antonia for betaing this. Their feedback improved it in very significant ways. Thank you, ladies. ♥ And Rivier, this one's for you. ;)

“No, but seriously, man,” Andre is saying, as if he’s his best buddy or something. “When is the baby coming?” He has his arm around Steffi and he’s had a few glasses of champagne. They’re in the ballroom of the Grand Casino for a charity dinner for Novak’s foundation. Beside him, Rafa runs a finger inside the collar of his tuxedo shirt. 

“No, but seriously, Andre,” says Roger. “I don’t know. She’s keeping the date to herself.” He takes a sip of champagne. He’s still on his first glass. Andre has clearly overcompensated for this party. Roger has no intention of making the same mistake.

“But you must be planning, right? She must say, well, we’ve got to have the baby’s room ready for some time, right?” Andre is laughing, trying to make it seem like they’re in on a joke together. “Or, like, don’t plan on playing Rome, or whatever, you know what I mean?” Steffi says nothing. She just shrugs a little in Roger’s direction and then looks away, maybe searching among the tuxedos and evening dresses for other familiar faces.

“Hey,” says Rafa, interrupting. “There’s Nolé.” Novak smiles and comes over, holding out his hands.

“Andre,” he says. “Stefanie. Thanks for coming. I didn’t know if you’d make it.” He shakes Andre’s hand warmly, and then Steffi’s.

“I’m gonna hold you to your word,” says Andre. “A party like this is worth, like, a day’s coaching at my school.”

“Fair enough,” says Novak, smiling. He takes Roger’s hand, and then Rafa’s. “Thanks for coming, guys. I appreciate it.”

Roger shrugs. “No problem,” he says. Novak is looking good. Monte Carlo was once ill-fitted on him, like a poorly tailored suit. Now he wears the place well. Roger has been watching him working the ballroom like it’s his own.

“Is Xisca with you?” he says to Rafa.

“Yeah,” says Rafa, glancing around. “She’s here somewhere.” Then he spots her in conversation with Dakota Fanning near the bar. “There she is.”

“Great, I’ll say hi,” says Novak. “Catch up with you guys later, okay? And Roger, give my best to Mirka.”

Roger smiles. “Thanks, Novak,” he says. “I will.” Novak moves on, and Roger takes the opportunity to drift away from Andre, bringing Rafa with him.

“Holy shit,” says Roger. “It’s like Andre can’t even have a normal conversation ever since Hit for Haiti.”

“Sí,” says Rafa. “I think he is still embarrassed, no?”

“Yeah,” says Roger. “I guess.”

“And everybody wants to know about your baby,” says Rafa. He’s smiling, and he nudges Roger a little.

“I know,” says Roger.

“You really don’t know when?” says Rafa. They haven’t talked about it.

Roger finishes his glass of champagne in one mouthful. “Rafa,” he says. “Let’s talk later, okay?”

Rafa frowns a little. “Everything okay?” he says.

The crowd is beginning to form into clusters around tables. At the top of the room, it looks like Novak is about to invite everyone to sit down. “Yeah,” says Roger. He places his empty glass down on a side table. “But we’ll talk later, okay? I’ve got a room back at the hotel. 419. Can you come after this?”

Rafa nods. “Sí, of course.”

“Okay, good,” says Roger. He pats his hand against Rafa’s elbow. “Look, it’s fine, okay? Come on, we better get to the table.”

They spend two hours at the top table eating dinner and listening speeches. Roger’s sitting between Xisca and Grigor Dimitrov. He texts Mirka under the table. “He’s coming. Call me if you need me, ok?”

He gets a text back. “Don’t worry. Talk to him. See you in the morning. xx”

He smiles a little and puts his phone away.

 

Roger has left the room lights off and he stands at the window, looking out into the Monte Carlo evening. There’s a view from room 419 across the harbour, where the lights of yachts and buoys bob on dark waves. The marina splays out from the coastline like fish bones, clustered round with silent boats.

He left Novak’s party a little early, catching Rafa’s eye as he went. Rafa will wait a little, then bring Xisca back to her room, and then he’ll come down here. Roger has made sure they are staying in the same hotel. It’s not the first time he’s done that. He thinks back to the last time, August in New York, the hot night before the tournament began that Rafa spent with him and Mirka in their suit at the Carlyle. If he lets himself, he can almost get drunk on the memories. It wasn’t even a plan they’d had. Dinner, a glass or two of wine, and Mirka’s hand slipping over Rafa’s as they talked together. Rafa’s eyes when they flirted, dark and shining, a smile he kept for quiet, intimate moments now shared with Mirka. Somehow the conversation brought all three of them to bed. It had always been a possibility, over the years he’d spent with both of them, and this was the night it happened. After a while he’d just sat on an armchair and watched his wife have sex with his… well, whatever Rafa is. He watched them in bed together, one hand on his own dick, but that wasn’t really the point. He just wanted to look at them. He watched the strength in Rafa’s thighs as he flexed and thrust inside her. He watched her arch her back and stretch her arms out to the bedhead, pushing against him. Every now and then, they’d glance over to him and smile at each other like co-conspirators, as if even having his eyes on them made the sex better. He watched Rafa run his tongue over Mirka’s nipples and suck at the sensitive spots on her neck; he watched Mirka’s heels dig into Rafa’s ass. By the time they came, Roger was ready to go again, and Rafa stayed half sprawled over Mirka while Roger fucked him till he was incoherent. The whole night seemed to take place in some golden kind of haze, in the soft glow of dimmed lights and a bed big enough for three. In the morning, he and Mirka went down on Rafa together for about an hour, and then sent him back to his team’s suite looking so thoroughly fucked that Roger could still see it hours later at his press conference.

Roger is still smiling a little at this recollection when there’s a knock on the door. “Roger,” comes Rafa’s voice. “It’s me.”

Roger flicks on the lights, though not too bright, and opens the door. “Hey,” he says. Rafa checks the corridor both ways before slipping inside.

They kiss up against the door, their tuxedos crushed against each other. “Hey,” says Rafa, taking a breath. They’ve only done this twice since New York, what with one thing and another, and in any case it’s always a crush of mouths and fisted hands when they first collide.

“Rafa,” says Roger. He pulls back a little. “Look, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Talk?” says Rafa, sliding his hands around Roger’s waist, letting his fingernails scrape against his belt. He buries his face in Roger’s neck. It’s an effort for Roger to pull back again.

“Please, Rafa,” he says. “I totally want to fuck you, okay? As soon as I can. But…”

Rafa goes still, loosening his grip a little. “What is it, Roger?”

Roger steps back, away from him. Now that the time has come, he’s awkward. “Look,” he says. “I better…” He crosses the room and pulls closed the curtains, as if he’s blocking out the gaze of someone looking in.

“Roger,” says Rafa. There’s something in the dim lighting that reminds Roger of that night. The room is warm, too. Not the stifling heat of Manhattan in August, but warm nevertheless. “Come on. What is it?” He pulls at the end of his bowtie and unties it, opening the top two buttons on his shirt.

“You remember New York?” says Roger. He focuses on the notch at the base of Rafa’s neck, sees the faint sheen of sweat there. Rafa swallows.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not gonna forget New York.” He flushes slightly, smiling a little.

“Look,” says Roger. “There’s a reason we’re not telling anyone the date Mirka’s due. Because…”

He trails off, tongue-tied, and watches Rafa’s face. Nothing really changes. He just nods, almost as if he’s been expecting it. He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair.

“I know I should have said something to you sooner,” Roger continues. “We did the maths as soon as we found out, and, well. It added up. But I just…” He sighs. “I didn’t know how to say it, exactly.”

Rafa turns the chair out from under the desk and sits down. He rubs his hands together, thinking, staring absently at his own entwined fingers. Then he looks up at Roger, still calm. “You didn’t—she didn’t say nothing about a condom,” he says. “You and me, we don’t, so.”

“I know. Look,” says Roger. He sits down on the bed opposite Rafa. “She was taking the pill, you know? You know what I mean?”

“Sí,” says Rafa. “La píldora anticonceptiva.”

“Yeah. But I guess these things happen. We were going to try for another baby soon, but not, you know.” He half laughs at the absurdity. “Maybe not that night.”

“Heh,” says Rafa. He looks at Roger, his eyes dark and earnest. “Roger, to tell you the truth, I already think about this.”

“You did?”

“Sí,” says Rafa. “She is—” He holds his hands out in front of his belly, indicating the size of Mirka’s bump. “I think, maybe New York.”

Roger nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, it’s not definitely that night, you know? But somewhere close.”

“What…” says Rafa. He wrestles with some thought. “How is Mirka? I mean, about maybe my baby?”

Roger rubs the back of his neck. When they had figured out the timing, she’d just stared at him, saying nothing, one hand on her abdomen. “Well,” he says. “It was strange at first. But she’s got used to the idea. She keeps—” He laughs a little. “She keeps saying he kicks like a lefty.” She said it just yesterday, after practice. She jokes about it now.

Rafa watches him intently. “And you?”

It’s a question Roger has asked himself, over and over. He’s thought about it when he puts his hands on Mirka’s swelling belly. He’s stared at the little dark outline on the ultrasound image and found himself looking for Rafa’s likeness. “If the baby is yours and hers,” he says softly, “I’ll love it as much as I love both of you.”

Rafa sighs and smiles slowly. “When the baby—wait. Definitely one?”

“Definitely,” says Roger. “Only one this time.” He smiles.

“Okay,” says Rafa. “When the baby comes, we can see.” He sighs and stretches out his legs, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under the desk. “We don’t know nothing yet.”

“Yeah,” says Roger. “We can get a DNA test or something.”

“Come on, Roger,” says Rafa. “Myla and Charlene have your nose, no? If the baby has a different nose, it’s mine.”

“Rafa,” says Roger. “This is serious.” He’s already laughing a little, though.

Rafa leans forward and puts his hands on Roger’s thighs. “I know,” he says. “But the truth is, this baby is your baby, Roger. You and your wife.”

“But Rafa—”

“And maybe me, no? Maybe New York isn’t just one time.” He’s on his knees now, grazing his fingertips over Roger’s belt buckle. Roger’s breath goes shallow. Rafa keeps staring up at him, his eyes a dark, liquid brown in the lamplight, while he undoes Roger’s belt and his flies. “Maybe sometime, if Mirka wants, we do it again, no?” he says, his voice getting quieter, more suggestive.

Roger puts his hands behind him on the bed and lifts his hips as Rafa slides his pants down. He’s already getting hard in his underwear. “What about Xisca?” he says, his breath a little lost.

Rafa shakes his head. “Roger, you know me and Xisca isn’t real.” He trails his thumb almost thoughtfully over the bulge of Roger’s hardening cock, and then massages it with the heel of his hand.

“But…” says Roger, his head falling back at the pressure. “Would you want that?” He raises his head again and looks into Rafa’s eyes.

Rafa sits back on his heels and undoes Roger’s shoes, slipping them off, and then his socks. He throws them aside. He shrugs a little, moving slowly, sexily. “The way you watch me fuck your wife,” he says. “It’s so hot, Roger.” He slips his fingers inside the waistband of Roger’s briefs and pulls them down. Roger is sitting half-naked on the bed.

“Oh my god,” says Roger. “Say that again, Raf.”

“Say what?” says Rafa, glancing at him and licking a flat tongue up the length of his cock. “Say I liked it? The way you watched me fuck your wife?” Roger groans. His cock is fully hard now, erect in front of him, and Rafa is closing his fingers around the base, pumping a little. “Maybe I’ll fuck her again,” he says. “Or maybe next time she can fuck me. She likes that, no? Being on top?” His hair is dishevelled, his shirt undone, and his lips already have a shine to them.

Roger’s head falls back again. By the time Rafa actually goes down on him, he’s halfway ready to pop.

 

“Get in the shower,” says Roger, after. He’s lying on the bed, spent, for now.

Rafa smiles, undoing his shirt the rest of the way and pulling it off. “You don’t have to go back?”

“Ha,” says Roger. “I think Mirka is happy she has the bed to herself. She probably has the pillows piled just the way she wants them without me in the way.”

Rafa laughs a little and kicks his pants off. He’s naked, gorgeous, his cock hanging heavy between his legs. “Say her I bring you to my bed anytime, no?” He flicks on the ensuite light and steps inside. Roger hears him turn the shower on.

“I will,” calls Roger, over the sound of the water.

Rafa appears again in the doorway, one hand hooked around the half-open door. “Or I come to yours. If she wants.” He grins and disappears again.

“You’re going to kill me ,” mutters Roger, sliding off the bed and undressing himself. He follows Rafa into the shower. It’s spacious, creamy tiles and chrome, and it has multiple jets and settings. Rafa has it hot, pouring down from the central showerhead. Roger presses against his back and runs his hands over Rafa’s body. “I’m going to drive you as crazy as you drive me, Rafa,” he says, right into Rafa’s ear. Rafa shivers against him. Roger reaches for the soap, spreading it over his hands and then rubbing it on Rafa’s skin. He reaches between his legs, soaping his cock and his balls, and then between the cheeks of his ass. He washes him clean and then sinks to his knees.

“Oh, Roger,” Rafa murmurs, already half in a daze. Roger runs his thumbs down over Rafa’s hole and feels his muscles flex and relax. Then he spreads him open and buries his face there, and Rafa sags against the tiles, his mouth open in a silent O.

 

Later, in bed, after they’ve fucked, Roger lies still half panting. Rafa is lying crossways on the bed with his head on Roger’s chest. He tangles his fingers in Rafa’s hair. “You really think it could work, Rafa?” he says. “You, me and Mirka?”

Rafa rouses from a doze. He rests his head on his hand. “Sometimes I want just you,” he says. “But New York was…” He smiles. “It was hot, no?”

“Yeah,” says Roger, laughing a little. “Seriously hot.”

“Seriously,” says Rafa. “And your wife, she is sexy.” Roger knows Rafa can see the thrill that runs through him at that.

“She thinks you’re sexy, too.”

Rafa shrugs, pretending to be modest, though the grin that follows gives him away. Roger runs his hand along the curve of Rafa’s ass and grins back at him. “We do this again,” says Rafa. “If Mirka, if she say yes.”

“Oh god, I want this more than I can tell you, Raf,” says Roger. He imagines the three of them together again, doing all the things they didn’t get to do last time. Maybe they could both fuck Mirka at the same time. Or maybe Rafa could be in the middle. Or Mirka could watch him blowing Rafa. The images swirl around in his sex-sleepy mind. And more, more than any of these things, it’s the idea of having them both with him, around him, near him at the same time that fills his body and mind with a bone-deep kind of happiness.

“Do you think Mirka want this?” says Rafa. He spreads himself against Roger’s chest, pressing his mouth to his skin and glancing at him, gauging him.

“I don’t know,” says Roger. He traces the shape of Rafa’s face with his fingertip. “But I think so. Yes. I think she would.”

“And Roger,” says Rafa, threading his fingers together and leaning his chin on his hands. “Even if this baby is mine, it’s yours. You understand me?”

Roger kisses him, then lets his head fall back on the pillow. “I understand,” he says. He imagines his life no longer split in two. He imagines them all together, his wife, his lover, and his children.

“Talk to her about it tomorrow,” says Rafa. His eyes are heavy, and he curls in around Roger to sleep.

“I will,” says Roger. He presses one more kiss to Rafa’s mouth. “I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

Rafa snuffles something against his skin. No words, just the sound of contentment.

And as he falls asleep, Roger feels that contentment fill him up. He dreams of warm, happy days and long, hot nights. For so long, he has felt himself half with Mirka, half with Rafa, a life lived across a chasm between two tectonic plates that drifted forever parallel but apart. And now, he dreams, now here, with this baby, maybe they’ll come together. Now at last they might collide.


End file.
